


to the shelter of your skin

by mywordsflyup



Series: everywhere [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Belgium (Country), Domestic, M/M, Recovery, Reunions, lots of kissing and plums and also kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: Jesse McCree is an anomaly. And Hanzo loves every second of it.





	

On Thursdays, Hanzo buys plums at the market. A small indulgence, all things considered, but he feels the weight of it every week when he hands over the cash and receives that small plastic bag in return. 

 

He gets up every morning at 6:30, goes for a run and showers while the coffee machine is running in the kitchen. He makes breakfast, takes his meds and then starts his day in earnest. On Sundays, he cleans his apartment in the morning and calls his brother after dinner, his muscles aching pleasantly and the smell of citrus and bleach still clinging to him. Some calls go better than others, but the good ones are happening more and more frequently. Hanzo knows the weight of that as well. 

 

On Tuesdays he attends briefings with the rest of the team, usually with the help of his laptop and a webcam. He shows up. That’s what counts - or at least that’s what they tell him. Sometimes they call him in and he shows up for that as well. He can’t help but think that counts even more. 

 

But on Thursdays, he buys plums at the market. 

 

It’s just a small stop on his walk, if truth be told. A small detour, but it always stands out to him the most. Genji would tease him if he knew that he scheduled a specific time for a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood. 

 

Small steps, he thinks. 

 

For now, what matters isn’t the how. What matter is the why. 

 

On Thursday, he buys plums for no other reason than that he wants to. 

 

He walks back to his apartment and decides to take another detour, just a small one past the mall by main street. It’s still early in the afternoon but already the sun is setting behind the buildings in the distance and the temperature is dropping slowly but surely. 

 

Crisp autumn leaves are crunching underneath his shoes. It’s hardly November but you wouldn’t know it for all the Christmas lights already strung up high above the busy street. Hanzo’s never spent a winter in Europe before. It’s different from what he expected, even if he can’t quite say what that was. Less romantic, perhaps - as silly as that makes him feel. So far, it’s mostly been wet and cold, with a lot of aggressively Christmas-themed advertisement everywhere he looked. 

 

A woman with a small child in tow and a dozen shopping bags in her hand, barrels towards him and he steps aside to let her pass. The child, a boy, looks up at him with big eyes and says something in French, too fast for him to understand. He smiles anyway but the kid’s mother pulls him along and they vanish in the crowd. 

 

Hanzo keeps to the far right of the sidewalk, right along the brightly lit shop windows. More Christmas here. Hollow golden presents stacked up high, twinkling stars hanging from the ceiling and faceless mannequins dressed in everything from thick winter coats to red and white lingerie. 

 

If he looks up, all he can see are the strings of warm lights hanging between the high buildings like lazy smiles. 

 

 

 

 

By the time he gets to his apartment, it’s almost fully dark. The streetlights flicker on just as he turns the corner of his street. 

 

He climbs the stairs up to the second floor and unlocks his front door. It’s the smallest place he’s ever lived in but he pays his own rent and somehow he finds it’s enough for him. 

 

He steps into the hallway and has already toed out of one shoe when he freezes, every muscle in his body suddenly tense. 

 

There’s a sliver of light coming from underneath his living room door. 

 

He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his brain already racing - calculating possible ways this could end. There’s a fleeting thought, quickly pushed aside: _How easy it is to fall back into the person you have always been._

 

A noise from behind the closed door, a soft bang. And then… 

 

“Shit! Sorry! It’s just me!” 

 

Hanzo flings open the door and is through it not half a second later. He has time to see the surprised look on Jesse’s face before he throws himself into his arms with enough force to knock the wind out of him. 

 

Jesse stumbles backwards but keeps his balance, strong arms pulling Hanzo closer and off the ground. He doesn’t quite spin him around but Hanzo’s heart still jumps in his chest. 

 

“Well,” Jesse says when he sets him down. “I’m happy to see you too, darlin’.” 

 

Hanzo grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down into a kiss. There will be more than enough time for talking. Later.

 

Jesse tastes likes mint and smells like Hanzo’s soap. His hair’s still damp from the shower.

 

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Jesse says when he falls back into the cushions of Hanzo’s couch, pulling Hanzo with him until he straddles his thighs. “I sent you a message but I don’t think you saw it."

 

“I did not,” Hanzo says and pushes away Jesse’s hand to pull his phone out of back pocket. There are indeed a couple of messages from Jesse, peppered with a gracious amount of emojis. There’s another one from Genji - a snapshot of Zenyatta in what appears to be a truly atrocious Christmas sweater. Hanzo shows it to Jesse before putting his phone away. 

 

There are more things to ask. The hows and the whys and the terrible how longs. But for now, Hanzo contents himself with cupping Jesse’s face with both hands and studying every line and feature of it, as if to commit it to memory. 

 

“Everything still in its place?” Jesse asks, his smile so fond that Hanzo just has to kiss it. 

 

He thumbs at the thin pink scar that cuts through Jesse’s right eyebrow. “This one is new.” 

 

Jesse follows his thumb with his own fingers before taking Hanzo’s hand in his. “Yeah,” he says and presses a quick kiss to Hanzo’s knuckles. “St. Petersburg.” He glances up at Hanzo’s face and when he touches the barbell at the bridge of his nose, he does it so gently Hanzo hardly feels it. “That one’s new as well.” 

 

“Yes,” Hanzo says and smiles a little. “Cologne.” 

 

“Looks good on you.” Jesse grins. “But I figure everything does.” 

 

Hanzo leans down to kiss him, softly at first and then a little more deeply when Jesse sneaks a hand underneath his shirt and up his spine. He has missed him, everything about him, but he doesn’t have the energy to dwell on it - not with this comfortable warmth in his belly and his fingers in Jesse’s soft hair and every inch of his skin tingling. 

 

They stay like this, soft and warm and kissing, until the rumbling of Jesse’s stomach gets too loud to ignore. Hanzo leans back and pats it like an animal in need of calming. 

 

“You came here straight from the airport.” 

 

“Well, sure.” Jesse raises his arms above his head and stretches. His sweater rides up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. Hanzo runs his fingers along it just to hear Jesse’s sharp intake of breath. “Had to take a shower. And I wanted to see you.” 

 

“In that order?” 

 

“I wouldn’t have minded a combination of the two.” 

 

Hanzo laughs and climbs off of Jesse’s lap. “Incorrigible. And it is just like you to forget the size of my shower.” 

 

Jesse lets out a dramatic sigh. “Never. It’s tragic. Practically illegal.”

 

They’re interrupted by another stomach growl. Jesse makes a face.

 

“Let us feed that wild beast that seems to live in your stomach then. Before it devours us all.”

  
  
  
  


 

They order in - because there’s progress and there are miracles. And making Hanzo into a halfway decent cook would definitely be counted as the latter. 

 

Hanzo watches Jesse wolf down three bowls of fried rice in the time it takes him to finish one. The plums they eat as dessert, their fingers sticky with juice.

 

They talk - about work mostly, Jesse’s latest mission and about all the people they both know. The only Overwatch member Hanzo has met up with lately was Angela on her short visit to Brussels at the end of September. 

 

“You’re still going back to Gibraltar after New Year's, right?” Jesse asks, putting down his last bowl. 

 

Hanzo nods and gets up to put the dishes into the sink. “Genji and Zenyatta are coming as well, but I do not know the details yet.” 

 

Jesse catches his hand on his way back to the table and pulls him close until he can wrap his arms around him and rest his cheek against his belly. “It’s gonna be nice, all of us back together.” 

 

Hanzo runs his fingers through his hair and rests his other hand on the nape of his neck. “Yes.”

 

There’s a pause, just half a second but Hanzo still notices. 

 

“You still nervous about it?” 

 

There’s a part of him that wants to lie. But with Jesse, there’s never been a point. “A little.” 

 

“That’s okay. I’ll be there, though. Moral support and all that.” 

 

Hanzo smiles and gently runs his nails over Jesse’s scalp until he hums. “I know.” 

 

They stay like this for a while, just quiet together. It's good and simple and everything Hanzo never knew he needed. 

  
  
  


 

 

Jesse lets Hanzo pick a movie and falls asleep halfway through Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla. Hanzo doesn’t mind, not with Jesse’s arms around him. He turns off the TV after the credits roll and Jesse lets himself be led to bed, with his eyes half-closed and mumbling nonsense in Spanish. 

 

“You are still asleep,” Hanzo says when Jesse makes a disgruntled noise as he pulls the blanket over him. “Dreaming.” 

 

“I must be,” Jesse murmurs, blinking up at him. 

 

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “Close your eyes. You had a long day.” 

 

Jesse mumbles something he can’t make out but the meaning is all too clear when he grabs Hanzo by the sleeve and pulls him down onto the bed. 

 

If someone had told him a few years ago that he would ever enjoy having an impossibly warm, snoring brick house of a man in his bed, he’d have called them a liar and worse. But now… He sleeps better than he has in weeks, despite the brick house’s tendency to steal hog blankets and wrap himself around him like an octopus during the night. 

 

Jesse McCree is an anomaly. And Hanzo loves every second of it. 

 

He wakes to a disconcerting absence of body heat and limbs around him and for a horrible long seconds he thinks that Jesse’s gone. But when he turns his head, he sees him sitting at the edge of the bed, bathed in only the strange yellow light of the Belgian street lamp shining through Hanzo’s bedroom window.  

 

“What is wrong?” Hanzo asks, his voice rough with sleep. 

 

Jesse jumps a little at the sudden sound and turns around. “Nothing. Just that damn time difference.” He reaches out and places a hand on Hanzo’s hip. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

 

“You did not.” Hanzo sits up despite Jesse’s protests. The clock on his bedside table tells him it’s barely past 2 am. He frowns. “You will feel terrible in the morning.” 

 

Jesse shrugs. “Probably.” He shifts back on the bed until he’s sitting next to Hanzo, his back leaning against the headboard. “I get to spend it with you, though.” He nudges Hanzo with his elbow. “Worth it.” 

 

Hanzo scoffs but there’s no real heat behind it. “I will remind you of that once you start complaining about the headaches.”

 

Jesse’s laugh is a quiet thing and he finds Hanzo’s hand in the darkness. He lifts it up to his lips for a kiss. “I know a thing or two to pass the time…” 

 

Hanzo doesn’t need to see it to know the glint in Jesse’s eyes and the little smile that usually goes with it. “Do you?” 

 

“Sure.” Jesse turns Hanzo’s hand in his and presses a kiss to his wrist. “Might have thought about them once or twice or a million times while I was away.” 

 

His voice has dropped to something low and entirely dangerous. Hanzo feels his heart flutter in his chest. “Is that so?” 

 

Jesse pulls him in and Hanzo’s never been happier to follow - when it ends like this, with Jesse mouth at his throat and his hands pushing up his shirt. 

 

“Mh-mh.” Jesse leaves a trail of kisses all the way up his jaw. “Usually around this time of night.” He lets his hands wander down his back until he cups his ass. “This is better, though. Much better.” 

 

Hanzo has a smart thing to say, right there on the tip of his tongue. But that’s when Jesse decides to suck a mark into the side of his neck and all that Hanzo manages is a low groan. 

 

“I missed you.” Jesse soothes the sting with a little kiss. “God, I missed you.” 

 

There’s no need for light. They know every inch of each other’s bodies, every spot and mark. All the scars and all the stories that go with them. All the places that make them sigh and shake and fall apart. 

 

By the time, Jesse takes both of them in hand, Hanzo is shivering with anticipation, every cell in his body yearning for more. He doesn’t beg, he never does. But Jesse is the only one who brings him close more often than not. 

 

The feeling of it - Jesse’s rough hand curled around them both, his cock thick and hard against his own - it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

 

“Jesse,” he says, his voice rough and broken. “Jesse...” 

 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” And he does. He picks up the pace, the cool metal of his other hand at the small of Hanzo’s back, keeping him steady. 

 

Hanzo digs his nails into the meat of Jesse’s shoulders and leans in. It’s less of a kiss and more closing the space between them. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same desperate noise as Hanzo makes a mess of them both and Jesse follows soon after. 

 

Hanzo sags against him, rests his sweaty forehead against his shoulder. He can feel Jesse’s thumb drawing circles on his back, soothing while they’re coming down. Hanzo turns his head and presses a kiss against Jesse’s neck. 

 

It gets cold too fast, their heated skin exposed and the winter cold somehow always creeping in despite all of Hanzo’s attempts at keeping the place warm. Jesse gently lowers him down on his back and quietly leaves the room, only to return a few moments later with a warm washcloth and a bottle of water. He cleans Hanzo like a precious thing and afterwards they crawl back under the covers to get warm again. 

 

There are advantages to having a boyfriend with unnatural body heat and a penchant for wrapping himself around him. 

 

Jesse nuzzles the back of Hanzo’s neck. “I liked those plums,” he says, his voice already heavy with sleep. “We should get more of those.” 

 

“The market is only open on Thursdays.” Hanzo pulls Jesse’s arms tighter around him and Jesse’s only too happy to comply. 

 

He sighs, heavy like a big old dog. “We’ll go together next week then.” 

 

“Yes,” Hanzo says, warmth blooming in his chest and spreading. “Next week.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Wafia's song "Fading Through". 
> 
> About fic requests inquire [here.](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/ask)  
> You can also find me on Tumblr, if you want: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
